A low moan echoed in the distance, filling the barren night with sound, as the wind traversed the desolate plains. The flames flickered slightly, stirred by the disturbance of the passing air, as they cast strange and twisted shapes upon the figures huddled around the perimeter of the fire.
Stroking the long length of his grizzled white beard, the old man carefully eyed the others seated with him around the blaze with an air of solemn silence. He sat opposite them, alone except for the metal drum he had formed into a seat for himself. The shadows leaped back and forth, adding an element of eerie mysticism to his facial features, already partially obscured by the darkness of the night.
On the other side of the fire, the few remnants of humanity eagerly awaited the continuation of the old man's story, holding their breath so as to not miss a single word.
Another moment passed as the old man licked his parched lips, turning his attention from those gathered to listen, while he stared off in the direction of the parting wind as it whistled away into the nothingness beyond.
"I still hear them," the old man began in a low tone, his focus on the night sky, "I still hear their voices, calling to me on nights like this when the wind blows through our empty world."
"Who do you hear?" the voice of the last child alive spoke up, "Tell us, please."
"I hear the voices of my parents," the old man sighed, shifting his gaze back towards the small gathering across the flames, "They died many years ago, long before your time."
"Is that it?" the child asked, sounding puzzled, "You only hear your parents speaking in the wind?"
"I hear much more than that, little one," the old man frowned, eyeing the barely visible silhouette of the child, obscured by the dancing light, "I hear the voice of the Saviour, I hear the whispers of my adoptive mother, I hear the cries of my unborn sibling, and I hear the cries for retribution from a thousand lost souls as they wander."
"What do they want retribution for?" a woman's voice asked with a slight tremor "The lost souls, I mean."
"They want vengeance," the old man began to stir the ashes of the fire with a stick as the flames grew scarce, "They wish to be paid for the life that was stolen from them. Someone must pay the price for my father's power."
Straightening up slightly, the old man motioned with his free hand in a beckoning gesture, "One of you, bring more wood for the fire! The flames grow weak. Unless we wish to die from the bitter cold, we must replenish our heat."
A sliver of haggard-looking figures shuffled away into the darkness, returning a moment later with a collection of thin branches that had dried in the inhospitable conditions that plagued the land. Gingerly they threw the wood into the flames, a single piece at a time, watching as the fire consumed the fresh fuel with a loud crackling sound.
The old man watched the others feeding the fire with a satisfied look from his seat, "There, that should keep an old soul alive for a while longer at the very least."
When the wood gatherers had taken their place around the circle the old man resumed his tale, "Here we are, the remains of the great race that conquered this planet, the bringers of light and science. Now we are nothing. We sit here, gathered together to ward off the beasts and terrors of the night, waiting to leave this god-forsaken land when we close our eyes for the last time."
"Do you mean the talking chimpanzees?" one of the wood gatherers inquired, "Are they the beasts of the night?"
"Talking chimps," the old man scoffed, "My god, man. You're a fucking idiot if you believe that story."
"But aren't they responsible for killing that one guy? The assassin who was always with the Saviour?" an old woman croaked, "I don't know any man who was ever able to kill him, but they did. I'm sure of it."
Sighing the old man stroked his beard again, "Old woman, if such creatures existed, why would they stop with just one man? Why wouldn't they relentlessly hunt us down in turn for imprisoning their kind for generations? Everything else on this planet now seems determined to kill us, from the weather to the microscopic virus that has virtually annihilated us, why should they be any different?"
"Perhaps they don't care to." the old woman mused in response, "Perhaps they were commanded to do so, by a higher power."
"The only higher power I know is god," the old man chuckled, "He's certainly not the kind to order the death of one of his favorite creatures."
"You speak as if you've met him personally," a random voice of the crowd spoke, "Do you hear his voice in the wind as well?"
"No," the old man grunted, "He isn't the type to be subtle. He prefers the direct approach."
"Is this your punishment for following the Saviour?" the child spoke again.
"I suppose you could say that," the old man replied wistfully, "I'm not sure that we had a choice if I'm thinking about it in an honest sense. The world was always fated to end, it was more the question of how it would end."
Shifting on his seat slightly, the old man continued, "I was taken from my dead parents as an infant when the Saviour killed my father in retaliation for his inability to save my mother's life. For the first part of my existence, I was lead to believe that I was his biological son, either out of a sense of fear or perhaps obligation to my dead mother's memory. It was the boy my father called his other-self who informed me of the truth. With time, I came to believe that this mysterious boy, who would come and go at random, was in fact our god, a most unfortunate fact for our survival."
"So you have met god then?" one of the figures inquired, "He's a real person?"
"I can't prove that the boy is god," the old man rubbed at his forehead, "I can only suspect strongly, based on his interactions with my father, before the Second Fall of Man."
"What do they tell you?" the old woman asked, "I'm curious, what could the dead have to speak to the living?"
"They have more to say than you may suspect," the old man raised an eyebrow at the question, "I've been told many things by them since the world returned to this wild state."
"My mother, the sweet tones of her voice tell me of how she wished to have been present in my life, able to raise me to be a good man and love me in a world far from ours. My father speaks of vengeance against his murderer, seething with rage at the thoughts of the Saviour's power. The Saviour reflects on the ruins of his empire, long after the sun has set on the broken pieces that lay scattered, never to be rebuilt. My adoptive mother sings to her unborn child, promising that everything has happened the way it should, that chaos will be undone in the end." the old man paused for effect before continuing, "Then there are the voices of those who helped the Saviour rise to power. They restlessly carry on, speaking of the future, of unforeseen consequence, of unfulfilled desires and lusts, begging me to carry on in their stead."
"What about those who wish for vengeance?"
"The lost souls who wander are beyond help," the old man frowned deeply, "They were simply a byproduct of our lost world. In this state, they only served their purpose, nothing more."
"What was their purpose?"
"They were destined to die in mediocre forms of existence," the old man mused, "Even if the Saviour had never risen to power, this detail would remain the same. I hear their resentment at this fact. They feel that they deserved something more, some sort of divine retribution for their suffering. If only they knew who god truly was…"
"So if you can hear the voices of the dead, and you've met the one you call god, does that mean there's an afterlife for us?" one of the figures asked quietly, "Or are we all cursed to wander for eternity?"
"I don't know…" the old man muttered, "However, that is a question that each of us will have answered at one point or another. Some of us sooner than others, but in the end, we will all be reunited in the death of our race."
"You don't think that there's any hope for our race's survival then?" an elderly man's voice spoke in a gravely rasp from the group's edge.
"It's hard to believe you're still alive," the old man grimaced, turning his attention to the new voice, "You should have died many years ago, Thing. You're the oldest human alive."
"If you don't count Eli," Thing spoke as he revealed himself in the light of the fire, "It's strange to see you as an old man, Adam."
"No one's seen Eli, since Eve died," Adam rubbed at the white hairs of his chin, "I don't think we can count him as human though. He appears to be ageless. Speaking of such things, how are you still alive?"
With a wheezing gasp of a laugh, Thing shifted his weight on the makeshift crutch that supported half of his weight. The rags that hung from his body appeared in the form of a twisted shroud, covering a form that looked as if it were about to begin the process of decaying at any moment.
"Have you heard of the devil, Adam?" Thing grinned, showing his mouth, devoid of teeth.
"Are you going to tell me that the boy is actually the devil?" Adam smirked, "I highly doubt it, even though he is an evil bastard."
"No," Thing slowly shook his head in disagreement, "The devil is very real. But the boy isn't the devil. I believe your assumption is correct, the boy is likely god. But he isn't the devil."
"Then who is," Adam shot back in a slightly irritated tone, "Enlighten your elder."
Thing let out another hollow laugh, "The devil is simply, the devil."
"I see why my father wanted to kill you and your companions now," snarled Adam, "It's too bad he didn't succeed."
Thing's face grew rigid, "The events that had to be placed in motion for him to become the Saviour cost me the life of my twin. The same events cost me my own life in the process. If I could, I would try to kill the man again. He deserves no mercy for his decision."
"Your life?" Adam scoffed, shifting his seat so that he could face Thing directly, "Please, humor me. You and your twin were psychotic meth addicts. How did you think that was going to end for you if nothing had changed? Did you think you would magically put down the most addictive substance of the previous world at some point and go on to be upstanding citizens? I heard all about you from Zee, before he died."
Thing silently glowered at Adam as he spoke, patiently waiting for him to finish his diatribe.
"You chose to help Eli, back when you decided that you would pull the trigger on innocent people. You chose to get high, then massacre people, simply for the sake of the rush you would get. I think the two of you did it because you felt that you had no other options left to you in the world as it stood. The thought of getting revenge for your sins was too great a temptation to pass on. When the boy came to you and offered you this Faustian bargain, you took it with no hesitation. Now you stand here, trying to blame my father. His rise to power was simply a by-product of your actions. If you hadn't agreed, none of this would have happened." Adam paused, lifting a finger to point it in Thing's direction, "You're just as responsible for this as he is."
"Maybe so," murmured Thing as the other survivors gathered around him studied his gaunt features in the dim light, "Perhaps I'm simply shifting the responsibility for my grief onto the dead."
"I've caused my own share of suffering in this miserable existence," replied Adam solemnly, "I understand that I'm walking the thin line of hypocrisy by pointing out your past sins against humanity, when I harbor my own."
"Indeed, you are," Thing chuckled in reply, "Perhaps the devil will come to make a bargain with you as well."
"So that's the reason you're still alive then?" Adam inquired, curiosity tinting his voice as he spoke, "It would seem you've made a few Faustian bargains in this life."
"The devil works in mysterious ways," Thing grinned at Adam with empty eyes, "I wouldn't expect a child such as yourself to understand his plan."
"I don't believe that there ever was a plan," sighed Adam, "Look around you, what do you see beside desolation?"
"I see a world where god has deserted his creations," Thing started, pausing to take a breath, "I see a world where the devil has free reign, knowing that god will never intervene to stop him."
"Wise words," Adam muttered, "Well spoke."
"Thank you," Thing rasped out another laugh, "It grows late, I grow tired. Goodnight, Adam."
Turning away, Thing melted into the darkness, one hobbled step at a time as the wind blew all traces of his existence into nothingness.
Adam watched Thing's departure for a moment, so absorbed by it that he was unaware of the presence of the others at the fire still. Returning his focus to those gathered around him he spoke, "The old asshole is right, it grows late. Tomorrow, when the sun sets, we will gather here once more."
A murmur of consent rippled through the assembly as individuals began to turn away from the fire, heading back to their respective camps. Adam watched them depart in silence until at last, he sat alone at the fire.
The wind continued to ruffle the flames as the previously added wood burned into small pieces of char, causing the flames to slowly diminish back into burning embers. Deep in contemplation, Adam stroked his beard again, staring into the remains of the fire, the final flames flickering alone in the center where they were protected from the relentless touch of the wind. His eyes became slightly unfocused as he pondered the state of the dying world.
Time passed in strange and flowing increments as Adam sat alone. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the approach of a pair of shoes. He frowned to himself as he studied the approaching shoes, they were in far too good condition to have come from the current world.
"I thought I said we would meet here again tomorrow," Adam announced loudly, not bothering to look up.
"Hello, son," came the reply in a long lost, but familiar female voice, "It's good to see you again."
"Mother?" Adam looked up in shock, his voice filled with a strange awe, "What are you doing here?"
"I'm technically your adoptive mother," Chelsea smiled down at Adam as she stood next to him, gazing down at his aged figure with love in her eyes.
Adam stared at his mother in wonder. She was dressed in clothes that hadn't been widely available in his lifetime. Her red sweater and dark jeans were in pristine condition, which would have been unheard of in this apocalyptic wasteland. The shoes she wore came from a brand he had never seen. She appeared to be younger than he had remembered, and her complexion reflected the glow of youth, long lost to him in his own life.
"You died when I was so young," Adam looked at her with hurt, "You left us."
"I didn't leave you, or your father by choice," Chealsea murmured as she stroked Adam's aged cheek, "I would have chosen to stay if I could have, but it wasn't meant to be."
"Do you think things would have ended the way they did if you and my sibling hadn't died?" Adam's voice felt a strange quiver he hadn't experienced since childhood, "Do you think things could have been better?"
"I don't know," Chelsea whispered in reply, the hint of a tear in her eye, "I wish we could have figured out."
"I know you're dead," Adam sighed, "So why are you here?"
"I think I was sent to take you back with me," Chelsea replied distantly, "You are quite old after all."
"So it's my time then? Where will we go?"
"We go to the wind," Chelsea smiled mournfully at Adam, "We go to the place the others wait for us. A better place."
"I don't think I can go to that place," Adam stared at the ground in front of the glowing mass of embers, "I became a monster. There's no one waiting for me there."
"Your birth mother is waiting for you," Chelsea started, "So is your father and everyone else who loved you. No one there resents the evil you committed."
"I wish I could believe you," groaned Adam, "But it wouldn't be just for things to turn out that way."
"So you want to be punished for all eternity?" Chelsea laughed, "Wasn't the hellish world you were raised in punishment enough?"
"I was a product of the world I was raised in," Adam pondered, "I don't think that it excuses me from the consequences of my actions though."
"Perhaps this is a consequence of your actions," Chelsea pointed out, turning her gaze to the fading glow of light from the center of the fire pit.
"So this is goodbye then?" Adam stood, reaching out as he embraced Chelsea in a hug, "Thank you for coming for me, mother."
"I'll always love you," Chelsea returned Adam's hug, "It's time for me to go now."
Releasing Chelsea from his grasp, Adam sat back down heavily on his seat. Chelsea smiled at him one last time before she began to walk away into the night.
"I love you, Adam," she called back to him in the endless night, "I'll see you soon."
Adam didn't reply from his seat. His body sat there, alone in the darkness as the final ember's glow sputtered out, returning the night to its empty state. Soon the wind began to pick up around the remains of the fire. With each passing gust, a fragment of Adam crumbled as his body silently fell apart, becoming a million particles of ash. This in turn was born away into the wind, accompanied by the final trails of smoke from the empty fire as they wound their way into the vacant nothingness from whence they had come.
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